Cracker Barrel
by vacation bible school
Summary: Lewis and Wilbur taste each other's spit and discuss dinner. That's literally the whole thing. Not fully explicit, but does have some rough language and mentions sensitive topics.


First (true) fanfic I have ever written.

What can I say? I like Meet the Robinsons. I like spit.

In this fic, Lewis is 12 and Wilbur is 13. Both are aware of their father/son relationship, but are still children at the time. View it as Wilbur visiting the past.

...Enjoy?.

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Wilbur watches Lewis as his strand of saliva dangles, ever-so-slowly lower, into his twelve-year-old dad's open mouth.

"Oh ew." Lewis says nonchalantly, sounding funny because he doesn't want to fully close his mouth. "You taste like steak and Dr. Pepper, like, awful Cavender's seasoning."

"Is it better than the taste of my cum?"

"Why do you eat your own cum Wilbur? Like for real. I'm not hating or anything I'm just wondering. Lewis finally closes his mouth, using his tongue to slather his own mouth with Wilbur's taste, lubricating his teeth with it like it's some kind of Arm & Hammer strengthening and whitening anti-cavity toothpaste.

"I don't know. Just was jerking off one time and decided to taste it and it wasn't that bad. Been doing it ever since. Yum." Wilbur recalled, smiling.

"It's not bad. Just I guess strange 'cause I don't know anyone else who does." Lewis detects a bit of black pepper chunk from the Cavender's Wilbur had on his hamburger or steak or whatever beef meal he had earlier. Or was it the chili pepper flakes in Tony Chachere's creole seasoning? Mentally, Lewis considered himself the connoisseur of saliva, the Gordon Ramsay of spit quality. A professional saliva appraiser. Not like he'd tasted anyone's saliva other than Franny or Wilbur's, but when he got the chance to, he could detect what food one ate like a dentist can detect the exact amount of time some kid has or hasn't been flossing.

For a moment, the two are quiet, Lewis on his back under Wilbur fully absorbing his taste. Wilbur lies over him, straddling his left wrist over his head, smiling back ever so happily. Spit swapping was their "thing." Most of the time, it was only Lewis tasting Wilbur, because Wilbur knew it was he weirdo fetish thing to taste his sonfriend's spit. Wilbur had only tasted Lewis' a few times out of sheer curiosity. They rarely ever even tongue-kissed, as Wilbur felt it akin to having a slug traversing your mouth. However he felt nothing wrong with spitting in his dadfriend's mouth.

Wilbur laid down on top of Lewis, resting his head on the younger's chest. Wilbur found it romantic to hear his lover's heartbeat. Lewis was staring up at the ceiling lost in some train of though relating to how he watched his son who, at this point in time was older than him, masturbate, and then reach orgasm, and then eat his semen, and then spit the saliva/semen/seasoning mixture into his mouth, and that he had thoroughly enjoyed the taste. _Weird runs in the family I suppose._ Lewis ran his fingers through his sonfriend's ebony cowlick.

"I mean the guys on that bodybuilding forum say it's natural to eat your own cum anyway. It's like eating your own blood or sweat whatever. I mean, it comes from you, do what you want with it, you know?"

"Wilbur, son, I love you. Dearly. You know I love you. But nobody eats their own sweat. Nobody. The fuck son."

"I mean - that was just an example of, like, a body fluid. I know people eat blood though. Like those freebleed girls on Instagram or whatever, who put their period blood in pancakes and shit like that."  
"I can't argue with that. Remember when Twilight was like, the popular thing? And teenage girls were putting blood in their boyfriends' food and drinks to turn them into vampires? What a time, ha."

"You and me are like Bella and Edward, except neither of us are vampires or werewolves and you're my boyfriend and you're my dad who eats my spit and cum instead of my blood."

"Okay Wilb that's really enough."

"Oh, you're pretending you don't like tasting me now?"

"No, just the way you phrase everything is so like, uncanny, and weird, you talk like a weird corny person."

"Corny. Cornelius. Did anyone ever call you "Corny?" Does mom scream "Corny!" when you guys are getting freaky?"

"You are cornier than Nebraska."

"You're cheesier than Wisconsin."

"Wow. Damn. That was fast kid, good one." Lewis let out a chuckle that was somehow fatherly despite the pubescent voice. "You're, like, potatoier than Idaho, I guess."

"You're like, cuckier than Seattle."

"What is that supposed to mean."

"Like, liberal cucks? Seattle is where all the liberals are?"

"Oh. Alex Jones would like that joke."

For a few more moments, the two laid silently, smiling, giddy, bathing in the warm presence of one another.

"We should go to Cracker Barrel tonight." Wilbur suggested, with the appetite, accordingly, of a teenage boy.

"To eat, not to buy the dumb gifts, right?"

"Of course I'm gonna eat, dad. I love their food. I like how they have paintings of chickens over the urinals in the bathroom. I like staring at hens when I piss next to fat hairy truckers."

"I bet you like those fat hairy truckers." Lewis darted back. He knew this to be true. Wilbur had a thing for rednecks, and in their many adventures and misadventures in the American South he discovered his son took a profound interest in large, hairy, sleazy middle-aged men. The kind who wear "L.G.B.T. - LIQUOR, GUNS, BEER & TITTIES!" hats. The kind of guys who would threaten to shoot Wilbur with their Mossberg 500 if his faggot ass trespassed on their cow's pasture again. And Wilbur's Pornhub search history, which Wilbur either though his dad wouldn't be able to find or purposely wanted his dad to find, was littered with _trucker, truck stop, bears, southern daddy_ etc., run-of-the-mill closeted gay kid porn searches. WIlbur wasn't closeted by any means. "I bet you'd rather have some hairy redneck bear for a dad than some blonde twunk scientist. I'm just a nerd, honestly, not sure what you see in me, kid."

"I mean, sure, those guys are hot. But it's not like you, dad, it's like, different. You and me are different in a lot of ways. Not you and me as people, but like, the 'thing' you and me have. We live in secrecy yet everyone knows. It's like, no one has to say it, or really wants to say it, but everyone knows the deal. And I've reached such a level of comfort with you, as my friend, my father, my romantic partner... I don't think that's a connection I could ever make with someone else. At least not as strong of a connection."

Another period of silence. Wilbur swore he could hear Lewis' beaming smile. (Lewis was smiling. It was beaming. Like this: :) )

"I love you, Wilbur. I'm not gonna let anyone stop me from loving you."

"The same back to you. I love you so much. Forever."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"And I mean, even if I stop loving you and we break up and hate each other, you're still married to my mom so I can't really do anything." Wilbur joked. Lewis laughed.

"I'll fix up the time machine and we'll go to Cracker Barrel in a bit. Sound good?"

"Sounds wonderful, love."

"One last thing, pretty please." Lewis inquired.

Wilbur lifted his head, confused for a few seconds, then let out a brief "Oh, yeah," realizing obviously what it was his kinky degenerate ass dad wanted. Wilbur towered over him once again, diving into a tongue kiss with Lewis, making sure the saliva was plentiful.

They both savored it this time.

"I can't wait to taste pancakes and mac and cheese and mashed potatoes tonight." Lewis said. Not that he was going to order those foods, of course. He just knew that would be the taste of Wilbur's mouth later tonight, when they would be alone in Lewis' room probably watching cartoons or fucking so hard the bedpost would bang against Franny's office's wall and knock all her 50 cent frog ceramics off the shelf, a father-son bonding activity like that.

Wilbur pulled away from the kiss.

"It's a date."

Lewis smiles. "Indeed, kid, we are going on a date, tonight, at Cracker Barrel."

Wilbur smiles back. Infinite smiles shared between the two. "It feels so good to say that. To say I have a date with you. That we're in a relationship, and we are going to go out in public and have fun and enjoy each other regardless of what people think. It's amazing."

"You know Wilbur, a wise woman once said, 'I always thought insanity would be a dark, bitter feeling, but it is drenching and delicious if you really roll around in it.' The thing we have together. We're insane. And I'm drenching myself in you, in front of the whole world, not giving a fuck, and it's delicious.

"I'm gonna yell 'I love you big daddy! I love my daddy so much!' like a damn toddler in that Cracker Barrel just to embarass you, idiot. Freak." Wilbur berated his dad, not because he disliked his dad, but because him and Wilbur loved to mock society. They loved treating their relationship like some kind of taboo, some forbidden lust, as the rest of the world saw it. Truly? All they were was two people in love, havin' fun, lovin' in the summer time. Two giddy idiots. When they realized the world saw them as wrong, as factually incorrect, as undeserving of respect or human rights, they just laughed. _What a bunch of fools, buncha fools who will never experience the joy of traveling back in time and kissing their dad._

"We're, like, pariahs, Wilbur. Societal outcasts. Except for here in the Robinson household. Weird thrives here. You couldn't have had better fortune that to be my son."

Franny entered the house. Wilbur and Lewis were still laying on each other on the water couch in the main living room. She asked Carl, politely, to put up some grocery bags, then made her way to her office, passing the two giddy idiots embraced (not indecently - they were fully clothed) on the couch.

She simply sighed. "So when are you going to empty the dishwasher, my dearest, sweetest, most talented husband?"

"Oh my god, come on. Sweetie. I've done that the past like, six times. Please give me a break."

"Wilbur's got two C minuses. D'you know this?" Franny was trotting back and forth between her office and the kitchen, organizing something. "I wonder why that is. Wonder if it's because his dad has been so distracting lately." Both Wilbur and Lewis understood that by "distracting" she meant "you're spending too much time pounding my child when you could be tending to your fuckin' wife." "I mean, sweetheart, not mad at you. You or Wilbur. I get that you guys are goody goody but I _really_ want you to have a secure future. I want you to pass at least eighth grade, do you understand where I'm coming from, dear?" Franny walked over and patted Wilbur's head while Wilbur still lied on his dad.

"Of course mom. You're always right." Wilbur reluctantly stated, knowing it was true.

Franny leaned down, kissed Wilbur, then turned slightly and kissed Lewis. And the thought was mutual. _Please tell me she doesn't taste that suspicious taste._

Apparently, Franny had not noticed, probably not recognizing the taste of her son's spit, like most people.

"I'll do this dishes sweetie, I promise. After we get back from Cracker Barrel. Wilbs and I are going out tonight."

"Wilbur, if you have homework, it's going with you to dinner." Franny eyed Lewis with a piercing maternal sting, _his grades are your fault_ filling the whole room despite Wilbur and Lewis both agreeing that, _well, not really, Wilbur attends school every day so he has a very clear understanding of what he has or hasn't done._

"Sounds good, mom." Wilbur stood up, adjusted his clothes, and went to get ready for his dad. After the boy was off, Lewis stood up and did the same.

"Have fun dears. Don't get too flirty. You know what those bible-beaters would think of you guys."

"Trust me, dear, we won't." Lewis said, but he couldn't guarantee anything. Part of the fun in living as an outcast was breaking norms in public and wondering, _how many times will I do this until I get caught? Or until people realize that love is a normal thing?_

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Thanks for reading. All feedback is welcomed and appreciated.


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